


Oceans Between Us

by aschuylersister



Series: Under the Same Stars [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, College AU, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I'm really back on it folks, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 20:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19116772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aschuylersister/pseuds/aschuylersister
Summary: In which Éowyn is so caught up in what could be that she doesn’t stop to consider what is // Modern AU





	Oceans Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks, looks like I'm back! "This is Where the War Ends" was originally meant to be a standalone but it looks like I just couldn't leave our favorite guy and gal alone. Lucky you ;)
> 
> If you're new here, I wrote "This is Where the War Ends" a few months back as part of the Tolkien Secret Santa. I guess if you REALLY wanted to you could read "Oceans Between Us" by itself, but you should probably head over and check the other one out first so you're up to speed. I linked it as part of a series (Under the Same Stars) to make it easy 'cause I'm cool like that :)
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you love Éowyn and Faramir and this fic as much as I do
> 
> [T for college kids drinking and some swear words]

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Éowyn blinks her eyes open with a start, to find that it _hurts_ . “Ow,” she groans, jerking her head violently to the side to avoid the light. “What _time_ is it?”

“Seven thirty,” Boromir replies much too loudly, much too close to her face. “Rise and shine, you’ve got class in half an hour.”

Éowyn chokes on nausea. “Yeah, that’s _not_ happening. Also, how do you know my schedule?” She decides that if she squints, she can see enough of Boromir to tell what’s happening but also keep a majority of the light out. He’s standing above where she lays on the couch, wearing a rugby jersey and sweatpants, hands on his hips, grinning maniacally. “I think half the city knows your schedule.” He scrunches up his face and pitches his voice up in a poor imitation of Éowyn. “ _You guys, I can’t have one more drink. I have class at eight am! No I’m serious, Boromir get that away from me. Oh I guess one more can’t hurt-_ ” He’s cut off by Éowyn throwing a pillow squarely into his face. “Hurtful,” he says, with absolutely no hurt in his voice.

“Fuck offfff,” Éowyn whines, burying her head into the thrown pillow that Boromir sets back on the couch.

Boromir is already walking away, and his voice is distant when he yells back, “You can stay, but don’t blame me when you fail chem lab!”

Éowyn’s not sure how long she’s lying there, vaguely comatose, before her body is jostled as the couch dips under the weight of someone sitting next to her.

“Skipping class, huh?” the new voice says.

Éowyn cracks her eyes open. Faramir is fully dressed at a disgustingly early hour, and Éowyn knows for a fact he was up just as late as she was.

“You can fuck off too,” she swears, but Faramir just laughs and traces soothing circles on her back. She’s kind of irritated at being babied but it feels nice and she’s too lazy to move, so she lets him.

“Well I don’t know about you, but _I’m_ going to get breakfast.”

His tone is happy. Too happy. Éowyn rolls back onto his arm, opening her eyes enough to glare at him suspiciously.

“Where are you going?”

Faramir smirks. “I dunno. Nowhere special. Maybe just a quick trip down to Aroma.” Éowyn growls. That’s not fair. He knows she’s a sucker for their chocolate croissants. He continues, unperturbed. “I could go for a chocolate croissant right about now.”

“Bring one ba-” Éowyn starts, but Faramir cuts her off.

“No deliveries. If you want one, you have to come with me.”

Éowyn scowls at him. Glares. He watches her with a completely blank, unimpressed expression.

Éowyn cracks. “Fine,” she huffs, and Faramir leaps up and crows in victory. “But if I throw up it’s gonna be all over you.”

Faramir makes a face. “Gross. Now come on, we’re losing daylight.”

“It’s seven _thirty_ ,” Éowyn shrieks, but he’s already out the door.

* * *

 Éowyn could blame it on a lot of things.

Being hungover, being exhausted, being a fundamental dumbass, but she’s out of excuses by the time she realizes that Faramir is acting _weird_. They’re already seated, at their favorite table in the corner by the window, and she’s halfway through her croissant before she truly registers the way he won’t look her in the eye, the way his leg is jumping under the table and his croissant is untouched.

She swallows a bite, frowning, and kicks him under the table. “Hey. You okay? You’re acting weird. And not like hungover weird, _weird_ weird.”

Faramir laughs but it doesn’t go to his eyes. “So, despite it being ridiculously early and you being in a complete state of collapse-” she kicks him again- “I brought you here because I need to tell you something.”

That phrase.

 _I need to tell you something_.

Alarm bells go off in her gut.

The last time someone needed to tell her something, she was sitting with Éomer in their favorite diner back home, and he had tears in his eyes, and suddenly Theodred was dead.

Faramir doesn’t have tears in his eyes. But he’s pale as a ghost and suddenly Éowyn’s world feels unsteady under her feet.

“Okay,” she gets out, digging her nails into her thigh. “What’s up?”

“So, Boromir’s going to Fort Bragg, to take a command position after he graduates.” Éowyn nods, she knows this, everyone knows this. It’s been Boromir’s dream to be an officer in the army since he was little, and he hasn’t shut up about it for months. “And my dad… He… he thinks it would be a good idea for me to go with him.”

Éowyn blinks. If being in the army was Boromir’s dream, it seems that being in the army is Faramir’s anti-dream. The closest she’s ever seen Faramir look to happy when he talks about a career path is the time he brought up being a high school history teacher. But if that’s what he wants…

“That’s nice,” she says carefully. “I mean, at least you have two more years to think about it. And if no one’s changed their mind-”

“No,” Faramir says, shaking his head, and Éowyn gets the sudden sense that this is where the other shoe drops. “I don’t mean in two years. I mean _now_. I’m leaving with Boromir at the end of the school year.”

Éowyn’s heart drops. _The end of this school year…_

Her first instinct is to tell him he’s stupid. Completely insane. He’s not cut out for this, not like Boromir, and he shouldn’t give up on his life because his dad told him to.

Éowyn feels like she’s just starting to get him back after the accident, and she doesn’t want to lose him in another three to _North fucking Carolina_.

It’s been three months since the accident, and everyone and their brother (brother being Boromir, who _will not let it go_ ) keeps asking why she and Faramir aren’t together.

Éowyn doesn’t have an answer.

Not really.

Her body has healed, for the most part. The bruises have faded, the cuts have turned to scars, she can make it through most days without painkillers.

The one thing that hasn’t healed is them.

Some uncrossable chasm between them that they’ve never spoken of, and Éowyn thought herself content to never speak of it.

Maybe forever.

It seems they don’t have forever.

They only have three months.

 _Don’t go. Don’t go to North Carolina, because it’s the last thing you want. It’s the last thing you need. Don’t go because I think I might be falling in love with you_.

Éowyn forces a smile. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

* * *

“He’s getting _married_!” Éowyn screeches, throwing her phone so hard it bounces off the wall.

From where he’s lying upside down on her bed, Aragorn merely shrugs. “What’s the big deal? He’s twenty four years old. He can do what he wants.”

Éowyn sputters. “What’s the big deal!? He’s my brother, Aragorn! I barely knew he had a girlfriend, and now they’re _engaged_?”

Aragorn rolls into an upright position on the bed. “Have you ever met her?”

“No,” Éowyn grouses. “Her name’s Lothiriel, she’s from _Hawaii_. She just requested to follow me on Instagram today. Here, look.” Éowyn tosses the phone towards Aragorn. On the screen is a picture of Éomer standing next to a pretty brunette with grey eyes, a full foot shorter than him.

“She looks nice,” Aragorn comments mildly.

“She’s probably a sea witch,” Éowyn snaps, but now she knows she’s just being unreasonable. “And I’m gonna have to go home for the wedding and I’m gonna be all alone, because usually I just hide behind Éomer at family things but now he’ll be preoccupied with his stupid _wife_.” Éowyn stops, turning on her heel and pointing at Aragorn suddenly. “You should go with me. Just for the weekend. Pretend to be my boyfriend. Arwen won’t care, you know she won’t.”

Aragorn laughs. “Yeah, because the fake boyfriend thing always works out _so_ well.”

Éowyn rolls her eyes. “Well at least we know there’s no chance of either of us secretly being in love with each other.”

“No, because you’re in love with Faramir.”

Éowyn’s eyes widen. “You take that back. Take it back right now.”

“No, I won’t,” Aragorn says primly, sitting up straight with his hands folded in his lap in a position that would be comical if it weren’t for what he said three seconds earlier. “You were too stupid to realize it before, and even a life threatening car accident wasn’t enough to make you realize it now. Take _Faramir_ with you to the wedding.”

Éowyn sputters. “Are you insane? No! That’s not- it’s not- That’s just not the kind of relationship we have.”

Aragorn’s eyes are boring into her skull. “But it’s the kind of relationship you _want_ to have.”

Éowyn sinks to the floor with a groan. “Stop reading my mind. It’s creepy.”

Aragorn crawls down onto the floor next to her, patting her back sympathetically. His voice is kinder when he speaks again. “Just trust me on this Éowyn. Because really, what do you have to lose?”

* * *

 “Dinner tomorrow night?”

“Shh.”

Éowyn blinks. “Did you just _shush_ me?”

Faramir shrugs. “We’re in a library. And your normal voice is half a step below full on yelling.”

Éowyn scowls flinging her arm out and knocking half her papers off the table in the process. “First of all, _rude_ . Second of all, there is _literally no one else here_.”

Faramir grins, having succeeded in annoying her. “Of course, of course, you are always right and I am always wrong. I concede to your wisdom.”

“You’re still making fun of me,” Éowyn grumbles, but she’s not really mad. “So. Dinner?”

Faramir frowns, looking up at the mosaic on the ceiling while he thinks. “What’s tomorrow? Wednesday? Can’t.”

“You’re always busy Wednesday nights,” Éowyn notes, somewhat suspicious, although she’s not a particularly suspicious person. “What’ve you got that’s better than me? Another blonde, perhaps?”

She wishes she was less than half joking.

Faramir, however, brightens, either not picking up on Éowyn’s darker tone or not caring. “Soccer! Me and some of the brothers play on the grass by the library, every Wednesday night at ten. It’s usually just us but it’s open to everyone. You should come!”

Éowyn squints, more suspicious than ever. “Me. Playing soccer. With a bunch of frat bros. On a _Wednesday_.”

Faramir’s grin is unperturbed. “Scared?”

Éowyn grinds her teeth. “Of you, Stewardson? Don’t make me laugh.”

Faramir’s smile turns lazy, somewhat challenging, a Cheshire Cat grin. “Bring a friend.”

* * *

 “Hurry _up_ ,” Éowyn screams in the general direction of the bathroom, huffing when Aragorn arches a single eyebrow up at her from his spot slouched on the sofa. Arwen’s apartment smells like ginger and jasmine, and something else that Éowyn’s never been able to put her finger on. She’s not sure she ever will. It just smells like Arwen, and that’s enough to make anyone want to live here and never leave.

“What?” Arwen asks with a smile, sauntering into the living room like she has all the time in the world. “I’ve been ready for ages.”

Éowyn thinks Arwen smiles a little like Faramir. “You look the same as before. What were you doing in there for half an hour?” The older girl is sporting a glossy ponytail, exposing the graceful curve of her neck and slightly pointed ears. She’s makeup free but it hardly matters, her skin is porcelain and her lips are cherry red. She’s wearing yoga pants and a loose tank top.

“ _Same as when I went in_ ,” Arwen repeats with a snort. “Aragorn, do I look the same as when I went in?”

“You always look beautiful,” Aragorn says diplomatically, as if he should talk. He’s wearing ratty basketball shorts and his hair is scraggly, half of it tied up with one of Arwen’s scrunchies.

“You’re a pair of divas, the lot of you,” Éowyn declares, rising with a jerk and bouncing towards the door. “Now let’s go. It’s already nine forty five.” Aragorn and Arwen share a smile that Éowyn doesn’t particularly like. “What?” she asks sharply.

“What was what?” Arwen asks innocently.

“That look you just exchanged,” Éowyn scowls. “Like you know something I don’t.”

“We know a lot of things you don’t,” Aragorn says, ruffling Éowyn’s hair as he rises to tower above her, and she resists the urge to punch him.

“I hope we’re on opposite teams,” Éowyn huffs, only a little bitter. “I want to body check you into the side of a building.”

Aragorn merely takes Arwen’s hand, and opens the door. “Come on, Éowyn. We’re going to be late.”

Éowyn screeches in rage, and Aragorn laughs and ducks as she swings for the head.

* * *

Éowyn, Arwen and Aragorn are five minutes late, but evidently that’s still early for the brothers of Sigma Alpha Epsilon. The three end up sitting on a nearby wall and chatting for a full twenty minutes before a distant rumbling is heard in the darkness, like a stampede or an army heading straight towards them. The once peaceful and quiet quad outside the library is now overrun by about a dozen young men bearing all manner of sporting equipment, from goals to balls to a bag of bright orange pinafores. They laugh and shout and shove each other into bushes as they go about setting up the field, but one person, quieter than the rest, approaches them at their perch.

“You came!” Faramir says, and Éowyn is a little indignant that he sounds so surprised.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she replies haughtily, hopping off the wall with as much agility and grace as she can muster.

It’s not a lot, and Faramir catches her with his hands on her waist anyways, setting her gently to her feet as she prays furiously that it’s dark enough to mask her blush. Nearby, Aragorn hops down and gallantly reaches back up for Arwen, but Éowyn is standing extremely close to Faramir and she’s not sure why her heart is stuck so far up in her throat. Arwen could faceplant off the wall and Éowyn would probably still be standing here, staring at Faramir with what has to be the world’s most idiotic expression plastered across her face.

 _Although_ , she thinks, _it can’t possibly be as idiotic as the look he’s got right now_.

“As I live and breathe!” a voice nearby booms, and Éowyn is startled out of her reverie. “Is that Éowyn Rohan, at Wednesday night soccer?”

Éowyn turns toward the sound, grinning when she spots Boromir barreling towards them, a battered soccer ball looking particularly small between his hands. He tosses the ball in Faramir’s general direction before grabbing Éowyn in some cross between a chokehold and a hug, ruffling her hair in a manner that reminds her so much of Éomer it almost hurts.

“Let go of her, brother, before you hurt her,” Faramir reprimands, but his voice holds no real ill will.

“Hurt her!? Hurt her!? Éowyn’s made of tougher stuff than she looks, Faramir,” Boromir tuts in response. Something else catches his eye, though, and he lets go of Éowyn abruptly. “Aragorn!? Is that you!? You son of a bitch,” Boromir crows, abandoning Éowyn in favor of rugby tackling Aragorn back into the wall.

“Your brother expresses affection very physically,” Éowyn comments, tucking mussed strands of hair back into her braid as she and Faramir watch Boromir greet Aragorn.

“He got it from our father,” Faramir replies, but there’s something else in his voice that puts Éowyn on edge.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” she notes, and Faramir’s brow creases as if he’s in pain.

“My father expressed approval with physical affection. He expressed disapproval in the opposite.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Éowyn has enough tact not to press, but something in his voice makes her bones cold. She’s never been a very touchy feely person, but she suddenly has the strongest urge to envelop Faramir in her arms and never let him go. But she’s not sure if that would be welcome either, so she instead chooses to stand awkwardly at his side and watch as Aragorn holds a conversation while warily standing in front of Arwen, as if he’s worried Boromir might rugby tackle her too. Boromir, for his part, seems content to animatedly relay a story to the pair.

Whatever it’s about, it makes them laugh.

“It’s so weird that they’re graduating in a month,” Éowyn blurts out, and if Faramir thinks she’s changing the subject on purpose he doesn’t comment.

“I know,” he says softly. “I never imagined going to a school other than the one Boromir was at. Never imagined there’d ever come a day he’d go somewhere I couldn’t blindly and happily follow.”

“You _shouldn’t_ blindly and happily follow,” Éowyn corrects with a frown, tilting forward on the balls of her feet slightly. “Not for anyone, not even Boromir or your dad.”

Faramir looks taken slightly taken aback, and Éowyn feels it, because _shit that was too much, I overstepped this isn’t my place he’s not my boyfriend he’s not_ mine-

“Perhaps not,” Faramir says stiffly, and Éowyn gets the sick feeling the conversation is over. He moves away from her, back towards the field. “Come on, enough talking,” he yells, his voice much cheerier, addressing everyone. “Let’s play some soccer!”

Boromir lets out what can only be described as a war cry, sprinting back towards the field where the rest of the boys are waiting. Aragorn and Arwen follow, and Faramir walks with them, greeting them.

Éowyn feels prickly from her failed conversation with Faramir. She could go back to her dorm, crawl into bed and never come out. Everyone has their backs to her - she’s quick enough that she could probably dart away before they notice she’s gone.

Éowyn scowls. She’s no coward.

She’s going to crush heads.

* * *

“You’ve got to be _fucking_ kidding me,” Boromir groans, doubling over in anguish. “That’s not _fair_ , Éowyn.”

Éowyn laughs. “That was for crossing on Arwen! Wear a jockstrap next time, asshole,” she crows, high fiving Arwen before jogging away.

“Five minute break,” Boromir spits out. “So I can go nurse my wounded pride.”

The boys, still laughing, crowd around Boromir and help him off the field while animatedly reliving the moment Éowyn kicked the ball squarely into Boromir’s crotch.

Faramir jogs up to her, panting slightly. “That was kind of evil. But kind of amazing,” he says, holding up his hand for a high five.

Éowyn slaps it as hard as she can, just because she can. “I’m dangerous,” she says, and her voice is teasing, but the street lamps are making her dark eyes glitter and for a moment Faramir wonders if she just might be.

“Hey, I’m sorry if that was weird earlier,” he says, a little sheepishly, scuffing his sneakers on the grass. “I didn’t mean to be short, it’s just that everything going on with that is so weird and touchy and-”

“Don’t apologize,” Éowyn interrupts, waving her hands wildly. “Please don’t. It was my fault, I overstepped, it wasn’t my place to-”

“But it was,” Faramir blurts out, then immediately looks like he said something he didn’t want to. “You were being honest with me,” he continues, softer now. “I need more of that in my life.”

Éowyn smiles hesitantly. “Well, you know where to find me.”

Faramir returns the smile. “So we’re good?”

Éowyn nods exaggeratedly. “Absolutely.”

She watches as Faramir’s shoulders drop down in relief.

_What do you have to lose?_

What does Aragorn know? Aragorn’s an idiot.

Faramir motions back towards where everyone’s huddled on the edge of the field. “So did you wanna-”

“Do you wanna go to a wedding?” Faramir’s eyebrows fly up, and Éowyn winces with the sudden realization that maybe ‘Do you wanna go to a wedding’ isn’t a great leading question. “My brother’s getting married,” she adds hastily, backtracking a bit. “The wedding’s next weekend, and I kind of don’t want to go alone.”

Faramir scratches the back of his neck, and for a terrible, prolonged, heart-in-her-throat second, Éowyn thinks she’s burned it all to the ground.

“Ah, sounds fun, but I’m actually pretty busy next weekend, and-” Faramir starts laughing suddenly. “Éowyn, your face! I’m kidding, of course I’d love to spend a weekend saving you from conversations with creepy uncles and awkward slow dances with second cousins.”

Éowyn can’t stop the sigh of relief she breathes out, even as she elbows him in the stomach harder than necessary. “Thank God. I mean, you asshole!”

Faramir groans. “At this rate, the Stewardson brothers will never survive Éowyn Rohan. Although, I did deserve that.”

Éowyn rolls her eyes, already starting to walk away. “I’ll text you details about the flight and stuff as soon as I get back to my computer.”

“Can’t wait!” Faramir calls after her.

Éowyn waits until she’s sure he can’t see before she lets herself break out in a smile.

* * *

 “Okay, now repeat what I just said.”

“Appropriate topics of conversation include horses, beer, and Ireland. Avoid politics and sports, unless I’m a Denver Broncos fan. Don’t look your brother’s horse in the eye- Why can’t I look your brother’s horse in the eye? Am I going to be meeting your brother’s horse?”

Éowyn rolls her eyes. “Firefoot doesn’t take kindly to strangers. Don’t worry about it.”

Faramir shudders. “Noted.”

“ _Hi there folks, this is your captain speaking, it’s a beautiful day here in Casper, Wyoming. We’ll be landing in about ten minutes, so fasten your seatbelts and put those trays up._ ”

“Put your tray up,” Éowyn repeats mockingly at Faramir, who sticks his tongue out before dutifully putting up his tray. Éowyn looks out the window at snow capped hills, taking in a deep, shaky breath. This will be the first time she’s been home in over a year. All she knows now is that she’s not sure if she could be sitting here on this plane if Faramir wasn’t next to her.

They get off the plane and head down to the baggage claim, where Éowyn spots her brother before he spots her. He’s looking around and holding a piece of paper, hastily emblazoned with Sharpie: ‘Éowyn and Faruhmeer.’

Éowyn huffs. “Sorry about him,” she tells Faramir as they come down the escalator. “He thinks he’s funny.”

Faramir shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Boromir got my prom date’s name wrong on purpose for a solid week.”

Éowyn grins. “In front of her?”

Faramir rolls his eyes at the memory. “Ex _clusively_ in front of her.”

“Éowyn!” Éomer sees them now, he’s jumping up and down and waving maniacally, and Éowyn buries her head in her hands. They step off the escalator and she’s quickly enveloped in a bear hug. “You’re _home_ ,” he says into her hair, and _she’s not gonna cry she’s not gonna cry she’s-_ “And you must be Faramir!” Éomer gently lets her go, and Éowyn watches closely as her brother walks over to Faramir. Faramir holds out his hand to shake, but Éomer knocks it aside and goes straight for a hug. “That’s not how we do things around here,” he crows, and Faramir looks slightly disheveled when Éomer lets go. Éowyn grins.

Faramir walks over to the baggage turnstile to look for their things, and Éowyn makes to follow him but Éomer stops her with a hand on her arm.

“He’s cute,” Éomer says with a devilish grin. “For a city boy.”

“Knock it _off_ ,” Éowyn complains, but she’s smiling.

Maybe she is happy to be home.

* * *

Something about Wyoming makes her want to be an early riser. She never is back at school. Maybe it’s the clean air or the force of habit coming back to settle in her bones, but it’s seven in the morning and Éowyn is out in one of the nearby pastures, standing on frozen ground. The earth is bumpy under her boots, the grass crackles when she shifts her weight, when she purses her lips and breathes out she remembers how Theodred used to pretend he was smoking cigarettes when it got this cold, when their breath was this white, how Théoden never thought it was as funny as they did.

She puts the edge of her hand to her brow, shielding her sight from the glare, looking out across her ancestral homeland. She’ll never say it out loud, but it feels good to be back. Something inside her feels centered again, some part of her that she’ll never be brave enough to name that will never feel at home unless she’s right back here.

Éowyn is terrified of belonging to something. Just the thought that this ground and this sky could have some intangible hold over her is enough to make her want to pack her bags and never come back.

“Thinking about something, little sister?” crows a voice nearby, and Éowyn all but jumps out of her skin.

“You scared me, Éomer,” she grouches, taking a half hearted swipe at his head, which he easily dodges. “Don’t do that.”

Éomer’s grin is wolfish. “Or could she be thinking about some _one_ ?” 

Éowyn rolls her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. This weekend is about _your_ love life, not mine.”

“It’s a wonder,” Éomer counters, “that _you_ , the girl who kicked Tommy Shields in the balls in the third grade because he told you you were pretty, brought a city boy all the way out here for my wedding.”

“Maybe I’d rather have an intelligent conversation than watch you and the ranch hands get wasted on Jack Daniels and dance to Soulja Boy,” Éowyn retorts, but Éomer’s point isn’t unfounded and they both know it.

Éomer’s countenance softens. “I’m only teasing, Éowyn. If you like him, and he’s good for you, then I’m happy for you. You’re all alone out there. I want you to have someone.”

Éowyn frowns. This doesn’t sound like Éomer, her insanely overprotective big brother who threatened her prom date with his rifle collection.

“Have someone,” she repeats softly. “Like you have Lothiriel?”

Éomer watches her, clearly wondering where she’s going with this. “Yes, like I have Lothiriel.”

“And is she good for you?” It comes out more bitter than she intended.

Éomer rubs his temple. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her sooner. I just- I feel like we’ve been living such separate lives, Éowyn. I _miss_ you. I miss having someone to talk to.”

Éowyn’s eyes prickle and she shifts her weight, looking away. “I just- I feel like this is my fault. Like… Like maybe if I had stayed, you wouldn’t be getting married. It used to be us, Éowyn and Éomer against the world, and then I left and I ruined everything, and I left you and Uncle alone, and I don’t know why I’m so upset because I always knew deep down that if I didn’t come back you’d have to replace me sooner or later.”

A tear falls down her cheek and onto the ice below. She swipes at it furiously, and she still can’t look Éomer in the eye, even when he grabs her hands and pulls her in close.

“Replace you!? Replace you- Éowyn we could _never_ replace you. Lothiriel is not _replacing_ you. No one could ever! Trust me when I say that me marrying Lothiriel will not change how much we miss you, how much we wish you would come home.”

Oh, now that does it. Éowyn breaks, and suddenly she’s sobbing into Éomer’s chest, and the sun is rising and she feels so empty and alone. “I can’t come home,” she cries out, because that’s the truth, the only truth she’s ever known.

“I know.” That surprises her enough that she stops crying, pulls back and looks at Éomer incredulously. He’s smiling down at her so kindly that she starts crying again anyways, and there are tears in his eyes too. “You would never have been happy if you stayed. You’re making your own path Éowyn, and I’m so proud of you. But please don’t forget us. Please know that you always have a home to return to, when you’re ready.”

Éowyn hugs him for real this time, fiercely, almost as fiercely as he hugs her.

“I love you,” she whispers. “And if Lothiriel ever hurts you I’ll kick her ass.”

Éomer chuckles. “I know.”

* * *

 The wedding of Éomer Rohan was always bound to be a spectacle, but even Éowyn is surprised by the transformation of their back pasture into a wedding venue to rival any of the churches in Europe. They set up tents and heaters for the guests, with fairy lights strung between, but nothing can favor the evening sky, which favored the newlyweds with a fiery sunset that Éowyn, who grew up here, counts as one of the best she’s ever seen.

The party is in full swing, champagne is flowing, and Éowyn herself sitting alone at a table, watching Lothiriel dance with Éomer’s best friend Gamling, with a smile on her face. She’s only talked to Éomer’s bride a little, but she’s charming and sweet and Éowyn thinks they might be happy.

It makes her happy, too.

Théoden comes and sits next to her, easing himself into the chair next to her with a groan.

“I’m getting too old for these things,” he says with a laugh. “It’s past my bedtime.”

Éowyn smiles softly. “It’s a beautiful wedding, Uncle. I think Éomer and Lothiriel will be very happy.”

Théoden glances at her with some surprise. “You’re not upset about it?”

Éowyn shrugs one shoulder. “I was. But I talked to Éomer this morning. He’s happy. Really happy. And I…” Her gaze catches on Faramir, who’s been cornered at the bar by two of her girl cousins. He’s holding two drinks and looks uncomfortable, and his gaze keeps flicking over to the table where Éowyn sits, but he’s smiling politely. “I might be happy too.”

Théoden smiles at her. “Then I’m happy, Éowyn. That’s all I ever wanted. For the two of you to be happy.”

Éowyn’s smile turns misty as she gazes out over the plain. “Theodred should have been here. He would have loved this.”

“Aye,” Théoden says. “But there is no use in wishing for things that could have been. We can only change things that haven’t happened yet.” He pauses, and Éowyn gets the feeling he’s talking about more than just the abstract. “This Faramir, he’s a good one. Are you and he-”

“No,” Éowyn says, ready to follow with an excuse, but for once in her life she realizes that she doesn’t have one.

“Hm,” Théoden says. His eyes are smiling when he looks at her next. “If you wanted to change that, I give you my blessing.”

Éowyn leans over suddenly and hugs him. “I love you, Uncle. I should have told you that long ago.”

Théoden doesn’t respond, only holds her tighter.

* * *

 “Wanna get out of here?”

Éowyn’s leaning against the bar, she has her hip jutted out like some kind of movie star, and she says the words with an exaggerated drawl, making Faramir laugh.

“Where would we go?”

Éowyn winks. “Trust me, kid. I know my way around these parts.”

Faramir laughs again, and allows Éowyn to take him by the hand and lead him back towards the house, supporting her as her heels stick in the grass. Eventually, after much swearing, she takes them off altogether.

She takes him upstairs, all the way up, until they’re standing on the roof.

Faramir grins at her. “Are rooftops becoming our thing?”

Éowyn smiles to herself, shrugging. “I figured it was my turn.” They both turn out and gaze back over the party, a distant hum now, settling into a companionable silence. “Thank you for coming with me this weekend,” Éowyn says quietly, once she’s lost track of how long they’ve been up there. “Really. It means a lot to have you here.”

Faramir turns to look at her, and when he does it’s with an expression she’s only seen on him a few times. “Like I said, wouldn’t miss it,” he replies sincerely.

Éowyn wonders why her heart is beating so fast. Faramir’s eyes are half lidded, his gaze is caught on something above her throat, and Éowyn feels something akin to anxiety prickle in her palms.

She’s good at pushing Faramir away. She knows that now. If she wasn’t so full of pride she might be sorry.

She knows one thing.

 _She’s done waiting_.

Faramir opens his mouth to say something, but she beats him to the punch.

“Are you gonna kiss me, or what?”

It flies out faster than she intended, and she stands, hands balled into fists, heat rising in her cheeks, world spinning, eyes narrowed, _maybe she misread maybe she misjudged maybe that wasn’t right maybe that’s not where this was going maybe she shouldn’t have said anything maybe maybe_ -

Faramir grabs her, and suddenly her entire world is thrown off balance.

His lips are on hers, and they’re flying, they’re free falling, this is all so new, these are uncharted waters, this is the adventure of a lifetime and Éowyn’s brain short circuits. Her mouth parts in surprise, and Faramir takes it as an invitation and _oh shit that’s his_ tongue-

Éowyn’s done thinking.

So, so, done.

And then his hands are in her hair, tugging strands out of her braid, and Éowyn thinks the only thing that could ruin this moment is if at some point her lungs give out and she’s forced to stop.

Eventually, that’s what happens. She and Faramir draw back at the same time, her breath comes in pants, she’s pretty sure her cheeks are flushed. She brings her fingertips to her lips. Faramir matches her breath for breath, his eyes are glittering, and he’s got the dopiest half-smile in the world. Éowyn smiles.

 _I love him_ , she thinks wildly.

She doesn’t say it out loud.

But she’s been back in Wyoming for 36 hours. It’s only suddenly that she knows she’s home.

They go back out to the party, because Éowyn doesn’t know what else to do, because if they stay she knows she’ll kiss him again and she’s not sure she’s prepared for what that means. But something’s changed, some fundamental shift, some chasm they’ve crossed and Éowyn knows they can’t return.

Éowyn’s drunk, maybe it’s because she hasn’t slept in what feels like years or maybe it’s too much champagne.

Éowyn knows this, she knows it because she can feel it, in the shakiness of her hands, the way her fingers tremble when she drags them across Faramir’s face, she can see it in the haze of his eyes. Everyone else has gone home, but they stay, the dance floor is being packed up and the lights are all off, but they’re still there, they’re still dancing. The sun is rising and she’s in Faramir’s arms, he’s turning her slowly, and she thinks she might be dreaming when he slurs with heavy intonations, his eyes half closed, “I know your face by heart.”

She somehow falls into bed soon after, and in her dreams Faramir is holding her, and he doesn’t let go.

She wakes up cold and alone.

The familiarity brings her back.

Faramir isn’t hers.

He’ll never be hers.

The good ones never stay.

* * *

 “ _All passengers boarding, Flight 3375 to San Francisco. All passengers boarding_.”

Another boot clacks against hers.

“That’s us, sleepyhead.”

“Hm,” Éowyn mumbles, blinking her eyes open to the hectic scene of an airport terminal. She jolts up with a start when she realizes her head is on Faramir’s shoulder.

He chuckles quietly. “Good morning sunshine. Time to go home.”

Éowyn hastily shoves her phone charger back into her backpack. “Okay,” she says stiffly, slightly disoriented from sleep. Faramir looks at her and grins. “What?” she asks warily, stretching. Faramir holds up an index finger, signaling her to wait. He takes his phone out of his pocket and, before Éowyn can react, snaps a picture of her face. He shows her the screen. She cringes at her flat hair and sleep-addled expression. But what Faramir clearly wanted her to see was indent his hoodie string has left across her cheek. “Lovely,” she groans, rubbing futilely at the skin. Faramir gently grabs her wrist and pulls her hand away.

“Leave it alone,” he reprimands. “It’ll fade in a while. We have to get on a plane.”

Éowyn stands, eyes heavy. She takes a step, and maybe it’s her untied bootlace or maybe it’s the residual champagne, but she stumbles and Faramir lunges to catch her.

“‘M fine,” she argues, pushing back when he doesn’t let go.

He rolls his eyes fondly at her. “You’ll fall on your face before we make it up the ramp at this rate. Come on.” Faramir grabs her backpack in one arm and puts the other securely around Éowyn, moving swiftly towards the gate with both in tow. Part of Éowyn wants to pull away, but he’s so warm and her legs are so stiff and maybe this isn’t the worst thing in the world.

The gate attendant gives them an odd look, and Éowyn gives him her best ‘I swear I’m just hungover and not being kidnapped’ smile while Faramir presents him with their boarding passes. They stow their backpacks, and Éowyn drops back into her seat with a groan. Faramir gives her a sympathetic glance.

“If you still feel like this when we get back, come over and I’ll have Boromir make you one of his famous hangover cures.”

Éowyn scoffs. “I refuse to drink anything Boromir concocts on the grounds of valuing my own life.”

Faramir grins. “I never said it tasted _good_ , I said it would _cure your hangover_.”

Éowyn shrugs, slinking back into her seat and gazing absentmindedly out the window at the tarmac below.

“Will things be different?” she asks, without breaking her gaze, without really acknowledging Faramir’s ‘hmm?’ next to her. “Will things be different, when we go back?”

There’s a pause on Faramir’s end. “Do you want them to be different?”

“You’re still going to North Carolina.”

It’s not a question. She knows him too well for it to be a question.

Faramir pauses again, and Éowyn still isn’t looking at him.

“Yes.”

She looks at him now, irritated. “Well then I don’t know how to answer your question.”

Faramir sighs. “Things were always going to be different when we got back, Éowyn. You knew that. You know that.”

Éowyn looks back out the window. The plane is rolling down the runway now, waiting to take off.

_How do you tell someone that you want them to stay?_

* * *

“Did you- did you sleep with him!?”

“No! God, no,” Éowyn screeches, almost choking on the tea Arwen poured for her naught but three seconds earlier. “We kissed for a little bit, but nothing more. We had too much to drink, I’m pretty sure he put me in bed at some point. He was a _gentleman_ ,” Éowyn says, punctuating it with a scowl.

Arwen grins wide, eyes slightly misty. “Oh Éowyn, I’m so happy for you! So are you guys official?” Something in Éowyn’s expression must have soured, because Arwen’s face falls and she slides a hand across the kitchen table to brush Éowyn’s wrist.

“It’s stupid,” Éowyn grits out, avoiding Arwen’s eyes. “ _He’s_ stupid. Boromir’s taking a command position, at Fort Bragg, and their dad’s got this idea that if Faramir goes with Boromir now he can get a command position under him, that it’s the only way he’ll ever contribute to society or some bullshit like that. And the worst part is, Faramir believes him! He won’t listen to me! He’s throwing his life away just because his _asshole_ father told him to.”

Arwen frowns slightly. “Are you sure? I thought Faramir was only going to school here because his father told him to. Maybe getting away would be good for him.”

Éowyn shakes her head vehemently. “He’s _not_ cut out for army life, I know that much. It’s just - he feels like there’s nothing left for him here. He doesn’t see everything that’s right in front of him! All the people who care about him and would be so sorry to see him go. He loves his degree program, sometimes he talks about being a high school teacher and his eyes light up and I just- I can’t bear it, Arwen. I can’t bear to watch him throw his life away for that- that-”

“So tell him.”

Éowyn blinks. “What? I’ve tried, I-”

“ _Have_ you tried? I know you Éowyn, you’re a lot of wonderful things but good at expressing your feelings isn’t one of them.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Éowyn grumbles on reflex, but she’s lost in thought, trying to remember exactly in what context she’s genuinely told Faramir why she wants him to stay. “But what if me telling him that is overstepping?”

Arwen spins her mug on the table, pushing the handle with the tip of her index finger. “That boy loves you more than you know. Tell him the truth. He’ll listen to you.”

Éowyn sighs. “If you think so.”

“But, Éowyn?” Arwen looks her in the eye, really in the eye, and Éowyn realizes how smart she really is.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not going to lie to you. If Faramir stays, things between you can’t stay like this, in this state of flux. He’s not going to wait for you forever. You have to make a choice too.”

Arwen’s eyes are still on hers, and suddenly Éowyn feels cold.

What would that feel like, to belong to someone?

She doesn’t have to think too hard about it.

In a lot of ways, she already does.

* * *

 Éowyn’s been running for hours. It’s one of the few forms of exercise she can really get behind, and when she really hits a groove she can run for miles without really noticing how long it’s been or where she’s going.

Even so, she’s a little surprised when she ends up in front of the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house this late at night. It’s not one of the usual party nights so the house is pretty quiet, and there’s no one to see as she jogs, panting and sweaty, up the steps. Her conversation with Arwen has been rattling around in her head all day, and right now she has courage.

She knows if she waits any longer, she maybe never will.

She lets herself in by force of habit, and a few people wave at her as she climbs the stairs towards Faramir’s room. She knocks twice, and is greeted by the familiar “Come in!”

She opens the door and Faramir sits up where he was lying on his bed with his laptop on his stomach, grinning. “Hey! I didn’t think I was seeing you til tomorrow!” Éowyn takes a deep breath, pacing, and Faramir’s face drops to concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Tell me you feel it too,” she blurts out, and Faramir laces his hands, frowning.

“Feel what?”

“This. Us. Whatever we are. Tell me I’m not crazy, tell me you feel it too.”

Faramir edges forward, and his gaze seems to be cutting right through her, so she looks away. “Éowyn, of _course_ I do. Why are you-”

“I don’t want you to go.” And _there it is._ The uncrossable chasm. Éowyn thought they crossed it before, but she was wrong, so, so wrong. They’re in the air over it, and she’s free falling. “Don’t go with Boromir. Don’t go.” She’s begging, she sounds like she’s begging, but she can’t find it in her to care.

“Éowyn,” Faramir says, haltingly, his eyes wide. “I don’t- That’s not- This doesn’t have to be the end! Just because I’m in North Carolina doesn’t mean-”

“That’s bullshit,” Éowyn says empathetically. “That’s bullshit and you know it. What are we going to do? Am I going to move to North Carolina? Be an army wife? That’s not me. But that’s not the point, the point is that that’s not _you_. You don’t want this, I know you don’t.”

Faramir turns on her now, eyes flashing a bit. “And how do you know what I want?”

“Because I know _you_ ,” Éowyn spits out. “Better than I know myself. Sometimes you’re the only person I’m certain I do know. And I know you should stay.”

Faramir rubs his face in frustration, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face like wildfire. “And what do I have if I stay?” he asks quietly, almost desperately, his voice cracking.

Éowyn steps over and takes his hands in hers, holding onto them for dear life. “Me. You have me. Stay and I’m yours.”

She can’t take it back now.

Faramir pulls his hands away, and ice settles in her stomach. When he speaks his voice is withdrawn, biting, and he gestures animatedly. It scares her. “Oh, so _now_ I have you? How long has it been, Éowyn, of you pushing back and _pushing back_ and _suddenly_ , the minute you decide you don’t want me to go, you’re mine.”

“It’s not like that!” Éowyn protests. “I’ve never wanted you to go, I just didn’t know how-”

“Do you remember, when we got in the car accident?”

Éowyn shakes her head and huffs, frustrated. “Faramir, that’s not-”

“No,” he says, forcefully, he’s angry now, Éowyn can see it in his eyes. “I asked you a question. Do you remember the car accident?”

Éowyn’s eyes flash in challenge. “Do I remember? Do I re _mem_ ber? Of course I _fucking remember_ , Faramir. That was one of the worst days of my life. I remember it _vividly_.”

Faramir holds her gaze. “Do you remember right after impact? After we hit the other car and went spinning off the side of the road? Do you remember how the car flipped over?”

“Faramir, I went unconscious on impact,” Éowyn starts to scream, but it dies as something dawns on her. “You- you didn’t go unconscious when we made impact?”

But Faramir doesn’t stop to acknowledge her. “No, of course you don’t remember. You were out cold, you were bleeding from your head, I had two broken ribs but I crawled over to you, unbuckled your seatbelt, held you in my arms while the sirens got closer and closer.” Something in his voice breaks, and there are tears in his eyes now. “Of course you didn’t hear me when I held you, the only pathetic fucking thing I could say was ‘Please don’t leave me.’ I’d known you for a fucking _month_ and I already didn’t know how to live without you.”

Éowyn’s crying now, shoulders shaking as sobs stick in her throat, and _he’s right there, three steps in front of her and of course she’s too late. She’s always too late_ . “Then don’t,” is all she can say. “Don’t live without me.” _Because I can’t live without you._

Always, always, always too late.

* * *

 “So that was it? You just… left?”

Éowyn’s trying not to cry. She’s been trying not to cry for days now, the days which have coincidentally been the longest she’s gone without talking to Faramir since they met.

Aragorn studies her from across the table. He brought her to Aroma, at Arwen’s insistence, in the hopes it might cheer her up.

Or at the very least, get her out of her room.

“I left,” Éowyn nods miserably. “And now he hates me and I’ll be pathetic and alone for the rest of my life.”

“That seems like a _bit_ of an overreaction,” Aragorn observes, taking a sip of his black coffee.

“You don’t understand,” Éowyn protests. “I ruined _everything_.”

“Did I ever tell you how Arwen and I got together?”

Éowyn perks up slightly. She and Aragorn talk about everything, but his relationship with Arwen has been one thing they’ve always left alone, for whatever reason. “No,” she says, afraid that if she says more he’ll change his mind.

“I’ve known her family my whole life. I even lived with them for a time, they took me in when my mother died. Her dad and I always had a tricky relationship, he loved me like a son but the one thing he never thought I was good enough for was her. I left when I was seventeen, decided it was time to forge my own path. When I said goodbye to Arwen, I broke her heart. Said horrible things. Decided that the kindest thing I could do for both of us was convince both of us I didn’t want her. We only started to reconcile that hurt right about the time I met you, actually.”

Éowyn’s eyes are wide. “I- I never knew any of that.”

“The point is, there’s not a lot in this life that is actually irreparable. You and Faramir love each other. If it’s meant to be, you’ll find your way back.”

Éowyn groans, rubbing her temples. “I just wish I could time jump to that part. Like you and Arwen! You’re so happy, you’ve got it all figured out. You have internships being all but thrown at you left and right. You could go to Washington, you could make it big.”

Aragorn snorts derisively. “As if I’d ever.”

“You _could_ ,” Éowyn argues. “I don’t know why-”

“Don’t push me away, Éowyn. I’m not the one you’re mad at.”

That stops Éowyn short. Suddenly, sitting on the other side of the table, a half-eaten croissant in her lap, she feels so incredibly small.

“You’re leaving me too,” she whispers. “All of you. You and Boromir are graduating. Arwen is going with you and Faramir is going with Boromir. You’re all leaving, and I’ll be right back where I started. Alone.”

Aragorn reaches across the table and covers her hand with his. He doesn’t say anything, and Éowyn is grateful.

There are few words of comfort he could offer her that wouldn’t be a lie.

* * *

 Éowyn’s told herself many times that she wouldn’t cry today. She didn’t cry when their groups met up before the ceremony and she had to avoid Faramir’s gaze for a full ten minutes. She didn’t cry when Boromir crossed the stage and collected his diploma, or even when Aragorn did the same.

It’s right now, when she’s taking a picture of Boromir and Aragorn, their arms over each other’s shoulders and diplomas held aloft, that she finds herself getting a little choked up.

“I’m just so proud of you guys,” she gets out, and she’s met with a chorus of aw’s and a group hug that almost breaks her neck.

Aragorn and Boromir move away, talking to Arwen now, and Éowyn prickles with the realization that she’s standing three feet away from Faramir.

No, two feet.

One foot?

“Hey, do you want to take a walk?”

Éowyn’s voice is steadier than it feels when she replies, “Sure.”

Faramir starts walking, away from the crowds, and it’s a few minutes before he speaks. “So, we seem to have a talent for saying stupid things that get each other hurt.”

Éowyn snorts out a laugh, covering her mouth. “Maybe that’s true. Faramir- I’m so sorry, for everything, I overstepped so far and-”

“But did you mean it?” He stops short, and Éowyn pauses, eyes fixed on his. “Did you mean what you said?”

Éowyn gives him the grace of thinking for a moment before responding. “Honestly? The only thing I really regret is taking so long to realize it. To tell you.”

Faramir twists his mouth to the side in a wry smile. “You’re not the one who should be sorry. This time.” Éowyn spares him what would normally warrant a kick. “My pride was hurt, and I reacted poorly. I’m sorry.” Éowyn opens her mouth, all manner of reassurances on the tip of her tongue, but he beats her to the punch. “I’m not going to North Carolina.” Éowyn blinks at him, once, twice, and he continues. “I thought a lot about what you said. You were right. This isn’t what I want. It’s Boromir’s dream, it’s my dad’s dream, but it’s not mine. I can’t do anything with my life just because other people told me to.”

“That’s-” Éowyn says, trying to come out of her haze of shock. “That’s really, really good, Faramir. I’m happy for you.”

“And I realized something else, too,” he continues. “I’m in love with you, Éowyn Rohan. I have been for a while now. And maybe I should have told you sooner, but I couldn’t let-”

Whatever he was going to say, Éowyn doesn’t let him finish. She kisses him, kisses him with everything she’s got, and when she pulls away it’s with a breathless, fevered, “I love you too.”

Éowyn doesn’t know what the future holds.

But maybe, just maybe, everything’s going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope ya loved! Comments and kudos always appreciated, and catch me on tumblr [@kingofthereunitedkingdom](https://kingofthereunitedkingdom.tumblr.com/)


End file.
